


Plus One Minus One

by XP1



Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, AU?, Angst, Conflict, Dana Scully - Freeform, Dana Scully Angst, Dark, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s11e03, Episode: s11e03 Plus One, F/M, Fights, Fox Mulder - Freeform, Fox Mulder Angst, Implied Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Just so much GD angst, Never again, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sexual Tension, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, casefic, casefile, episode rewrite, the field where i died
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-08 04:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13450908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XP1/pseuds/XP1
Summary: 10)’”Look at me…” he growled, and his gaze held her eyes.’—-11) She woke with a start as the handcuff whipped closed on her wrist.—-12) “Tick tock, little spy...”—-





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Listen:  
> I'm a fan and a shipper but "Plus One" had so much potential that wasn't realized.  
> There are so many amazing ideas that they did not touch on in the least, so here's one of them if we wanna keep to the "this is a shippy episode where they have sex" theme.  
> It starts off in bed and goes downhill from there.

She makes soft subtle pants at the end of his name, and he pulls her flush to him so she'll say it again. He breathes and she feels his breathing within, and if she could only keep still she'd feel the dance of his heartbeat thump lightly inside her. 

She rocks herself forward and takes his face in her hands. He draws out of her slowly and her swollen lips part. She's breathing in moans as he grabs at her hips and she moves them to tempt him to dive deeply again. She's lighting up now, with the just the tip in her care and she arches and whimpers, trying to trick him into giving in. But his intentions aren't cruel and they know what this is: she's begged many times over to take her like this. Somedays she just wants to give in and FEEL and those days she whispers her need in his ear. Start hard, rev her up, bring her close, then back down, while she floats on endorphins and permission to feel. Oh won't he please help her simmer and hold them both still, while she gets off on the motions she can't hold back? 

The first inch of her softness is swollen with nerves, raw and excited from his roughness before. He controls her with stillness and the strength of his hands, and she can pout all she likes but she's not getting anymore.

Her breath moves her chest and moves her hips along with it and he groans as she cries out and tenses, once, slowly. Her eyelids slip shut as she blocks out the world, and he's patient but goddamn is it getting harder.

There's a deep ache inside her he's desperate to reach but she's close and for now, -ah! God!, Jesus!- for her, he can try to keep still. He gifts her just a little more of him slipping inside, and he feels the tug of her body as she cries out. He moves in quick shallow thrusts and he grits his teeth hard and he focuuses through the torture of her begging -ah yes God please there!-

He feathers a touch that starts just under her breast and the and the tug of her body turns solid and tense. She sings little high songs of want and delight as his fingertips luxuriate in the slow journey down. At the flesh of her pelvis, he lays out his palm, and she gasps and he moves just a bit deeper inside her-

-oh fuck oh God he can feel himself in her and he rides her implosion as she ignites with the pressure.

It's sharp and immediate and she digs nails in his chest and the wails she surrenders are soft and melodious. Sweat beads on his brow as he watches her feel, and he licks his lips and grips the hand at her waist. She is torturoud pain and he's determined to survive. She fades back to him slowly and he feels herself rest. Her head lolls forward and she chuckles with mirth. He smiles wicked and hungry, baring his teeth, and she narrows her eyes as she brings a hand to his cheek. She makes little curious hums as he moves his lips to her palm and when he closes his eyes she brings herself fully down. Her name is strangled and beaten as it's torn from his lips, but she simply hums and lifts herself almost off him.

He waits now, obedient, awaiting commands. He pants as she pats him and shusshes his pain. Muscles in his neck and his chest and legs strain, and she approves of his patience with half-lidded eyes. She bites her lip softly and moves her lips forward to his. He tries to kiss her but she's chaste and laughing at them. "Ask me." she whispers, her lips against his. It takes him a minute to gather the wherewithall to reply. He looks up at her, dying, as she plays with his hair and begs "please" with all the desperation in his heart. Her smile is pleased and seductive and it draws out his moan, and she brings one hand to his over the space of her womb. 

"Come home." she whispers as she presses him to her, and he growls and he grasps and he's fierce as he enters. He's a deep primal rhythm of drums and of need and he fucks and he fucks and he fucks her with greed. The moan of her laughter is joyous and clear and his palm feels them moving, together, in there, and he tips his head back so he doesn't pass out, and he's deafened by lust and he starts to black out and someone says something that might be a name, and the movement inside her is erratic again and she's tight and she's wet and she pants through the fall and he gives himself over and the end of her moan.

The blood roar subsides and she chirps little songs as he twitches inside her with a long drawn out groan. She's punch drunk and happy as he catches his breath, and slick semen slides slightly at the v of her legs. She sighs a collapse and lands by his side, all happy and flirty, coming down from the ride. 

They kiss into slumber on the waves of their sea, but when they wake up they both do so alone.


	2. Tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think you blame me, for all this, for him. You think I was selfish and you think I was wrong."
> 
> "Can you say that you weren't? Selfish? Wrong?"

Three days prior, under the withering light of the airless office they shared in the bowels of the building, Mulder and Scully were having a fight.  
  
He prays to God she'll just let it go, but she doesn't and she glares at him and spits out her venom: "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Mulder?"

  
He sighs his frustration and speaks to her slowly. "It just means..." his jaw works as he thinks. "Scully, it just means...enough."  
  
He tries to walk out from behind his desk to diffuse the situation, but oh, no no, no she -wants- to hear this. She steps into his space and spoke with disdain: "I think it means that -you've- had enough, Mul-"  
  
"You know what, I have-..." he cuts in. He presses a hand to his eyes. "- I -have- had enough." He takes a deep breath. "It's enough now, about William, of you bringing him up." She will not face him and he speaks to her profile instead.  
  
"Look," he continues, leaning over his desk,  "What's done is done, Scully. It's been -years- now so..." he shakes his head, frustrated, deflating. "...so, you know...just..."  
  
She digs at his silence. "Just what." she prods.  
  
"Just...stop it, Scully. Please. You -gotta- move on."  
  
There is no warmth in her face or her heart as she speaks. "I can't  believe what I'm hearing-"  
  
He cuts her off with a snort. "Yeah, like I've never heard that one before."  
  
"Are you even hearing what you're saying to me, right now? Fox fucking Mulder, telling -me- to let go."  
  
His voice is dangerous and low. "This is not about her-"  
  
"-You're right Mulder, it's not, but go ahead and explain it."

"Scully-..."

"Tell me why your sister was so worthy of obsession. Tell me why that isn't the case for my -son-."

  
"She was a scared little girl and the victim of a crime. You...you were there with me Scully, you -know- what they did."  
  
"You think I could forget that? What's stopping William from being a victim like -her-?"  
  
"No, -not- like her Scully. He's not the victim of a crime. Hell, if he's a victim of anything it would be-..."  
  
"...it would be...?"

"Scully-"

"-Say- it..."

"It would be -us-."  
  
"A victim of...us..."

"Look it's-"

"-by which you mean -me-. A victim of his -mother-." 

  
"I didn't say that-"  
  
"But that -is- what you think."  
  
"Don't tell me what I think-"  
  
"I think you blame me, for all this, for him. You think I was selfish and you think I was wrong."  
  
"Can you say that you weren't? Selfish? Wrong?"  
  
"...this is beneath you, Mulder. Get a hold of yourself."  
  
"No, no, you started it, and now we're in full swing! So go on then Scully, tell me more about what -I- thought-"  
  
"I'm done talking about it-"  
  
"Yeah well, I'm not. What was it then hmm? Was the tick of your bilogical clock so strong that you couldn't think straight for a -second- about bad an idea having a child was? How -unfair- it would be?

  
"Of course I-"  
  
"-and if you did think about it, then what does that say about you? That you went ahead and did it anyway. Brought a -baby- into the danger and peril of your -life-. You gonna tell me that wasn't selfish? Tell me that wasn't -wrong-?"  
  
She was a pillar of flame in the desert between them. Her breathing was even but there was hate in her poise.  
  
He tried to calm himself down and pressed a hand to his eyes. The pressure caused pain but that didn't really help.  
  
She was a solid cut stone as he spoke:  
  
"Look. Scully. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that it -hurts-. But I'm not sorry for saying that -it-is-enough-."  
  
He resolved not to wither under the heat of her gaze. He thought she might speak but she just stood straight, glaring at him, blinking.  
  
He tried to be reasonable. "Scully, I just want you to come back to yourself..."  
  
She was flat and immediate: "To myself, or to you?"  
  
There was fire in his belly and reflux in his chest. "Don't turn this around-"  
  
"How could you possibly be jealous of your own infant son-"  
  
"-He's not an infant, Scully! And don't you -fucking- dare-!"  
  
"Mulder, stop shouting. And calm down."  
  
His rage made him broad and heavy and tall: "It's been -fifteen years-, Scully! He's a grown man by now. Stop infantalizing his memory. Make peace and move on!"  
  
"...Was that all of it Mulder or is there more to get out?"  
  
His laugh was short and derisive. "God knows Scully, if William took after me at all he'd have been chomping at the bit to get away from your obsessive controlling love!"  
  
"...How dare you-"  
  
"Christ, get a hold on your pride just this once. Stop thinking about the -past-  and start thinking about your -life-. You need to step away and come back to yourself."  
  
"You mean come back to -you-."  
  
"Don't do that to me, Scully. Don't put -your- words in my mouth-..."  
  
"-and that bothers you doesn't it. That I'd love him no matter what, but not you?"  
  
"Well hell, Scully, did you ever? Think about it now-"  
  
"Oh don't be dramatic-"  
  
"Jesus, why...why do you still do this to yourself? This is killing you, and this is killing -me-. You have to let go. You have to move on."  
  
"Again, the hypocrisy-"  
  
"Alright, fine, ok. Hit me where it hurts so you don't have to think about yourself. Fine, I'm a hypocrite. I'm talking outta my ass... so is that what you want? Is that who you are? You wanna be the obsessive Fox Mulder and spend your whole life alone-"  
  
"It's not the same Mulder, this is my -son-"  
  
"Oh, and isn't that telling, that term, -your- son. This whole time, all these years, he's always been -your- son. Well he was -our- son, Scully! William was OUR son!"  
  
"Don't use that word."  
  
"Which word: -our- or -was-? You gonna hurt me again, claim he's not mine just to get outta this argument, or are you gonna acknowledge that he is our -past-?"  
  
"You have no idea what it's like-"  
  
"Only a mother can know, huh? And Dad can fuck off? We don't give a shit about daddy or that he might love his child just as much?"  
  
"You don't know what I went through-"  
  
"-and whose fault was that? You did everything in your power to keep me away-  
  
"You left me."  
  
"I protected you, you know that. Christ, one of us had to -think-!"  
  
"You found an excuse and you left us alone-"  
  
"Remind me, was my excuse my abduction or my being dead or-"  
  
"You never wanted him."  
  
"All I have ever wanted was you!"  
  
"Envy again. How becoming. Your own goddamn son."  
  
"You know what, you're right. I didn't want him and I am jealous but I'm jealous of -you-"  
  
"You can't-"  
  
"You made a choice, Scully, and you didn't choose -us-. You decided you needed a child,  and I could be in or be out. I could lose you by inches or I could be part of your life."  
  
"So what was it pity? Or just straight desperation? God you disgust me. You should never have done it-"  
  
"Then you shouldn't have asked! You knew -exactly- what you were doing and you knew exactly what -I - would do! And exacly -why- I did it. You did that. You knew."  
  
"You should have told me he wasn't wanted. That you didn't want him to be yours."  
  
"Oh, but I did, I did -dearly-. So much it killed something inside me. I tried telling you no a thousand times but I-...I could never refuse you. Even at the cost of my happiness or my life-"  
  
"Then that's your mistake-"  
  
"No. That's the trap that you set. You can't pretend you didn't know how I felt about you. You knew what you wanted and you knew I would never say no, and -why-."  
  
"You think I'm-"  
  
"So I made my mistake, in trying to keep you. I gave you what you asked, and you did what you wanted, and I have spent the rest of my life trying to make up for my weakness-  
  
"I never asked you for anything after...after the-"  
  
"You got what you wanted. You got to be a mother, for nine months before and almost a year after. Sometimes I wonder if you kept that secret from me. I wonder how long you knew you were pregnant without telling me before we wound up in Belleflower."  
  
"I-"  
  
"I had -one- day as a father, the day he was born. And the next day I gave, for you both, I gave all that up. I gave up my love, I gave up my life, I ran and I hid and did terrible things in the hopes you might make it. That you might have a chance to keep being a mother. So yes, Scully, I'm jealous- but I'm jealous of -you-."  
  
"...you...can't even begin-"  
  
"-What did I ever do to you, Scully? What did I ever do that would make you see me this way? After all of this time, how could you think me so cold? How could you think I didn't love him, that I still don't. How could you think that because he was your bad decision that I loved him any less?"  
  
"You have no right-"  
  
"You kept that right from me, and now I'm taking it back. This whole narrative you cling to is a fiction so you never have to let him go. 'His father never loved him, so I'll love him for us both.' "  
  
"Love never stopped you from leaving-"  
  
"Love forced me to go. And wasn't that what you wanted, really, when you asked me for my sperm?"

  
"I never-"  
  
"-so don't blame me Scully, don't hurt me or blame me because your single mom fantasy didn't pan out."  
  
"How dare you..."  
  
"Tell me something, am I even his father on record or did you just put "unknown"?  
  
"Get out."  
  
"You get out. This is my office."  
  
"Of course. Your office. My son."  
  
"Look, there's work to be done and I plan to do it. I won't leave my life for you, not again."  
  
"Then I'm going."  
  
"Ah, something else I've heard a million times before!-"  
  
"I won't-"  
  
"No -I- won't, Scully. Okay? So really listen to me now: if you walk out that door I will not follow. I've had enough of the threat of the ransom of yourself in my life. Stop threatening to leave because you think I'll give in. If you can't deal with yourself, fine, then go deal. Go work it out alone if you have to, but I won't let you keep hurting me because you're mad at yourself."  
  
"Who the hell do you think you're talking to right now?  
  
"God-damn- it Scully just-"  
  
"Stop it. Stop calling me that."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Scully. Stop it. That's just something you called me to keep me away. You wanna talk about being mad at yourself? What kind of man never lets his partner use his first name?"  
  
"It's different, I hate it, it's a reminder of things I want forgotten-"  
  
"Well so is this, Mulder. Forget Scully. Scully is gone. My goddamn name is Dana, and it suits me just fine. Grow the fuck up and start acting like an adult."  
  
"...so is that Doctor or missus or agent or-"  
  
"Fuck off-"  
  
"Ah, then hello "fuck off Dana", I'm Agent Mulder; welcome to hell."  
  
"Agents." came a voice from outside in the hall.  
  
They still stared at each other trying to make the other crumble.  
  
"What is it Walter?" Mulder said, and it came out harder than he'd have liked.  
  
" ...you wanna try that again, Mulder?" Skinner said, a warning in his tone.  
  
Mulder's frowned deepened to nearly a scowl. "The name game today huh? Fine then, Assistant Director Skinner have you met 'Fuck off Dana?' "  
  
Skinner's words cut them both off at the pass "...-its damn hot in here Agents. Maybe you two should talk a walk."  
  
"Oh I'll take a walk-" Mulder said, getting riled up.  
  
"Sir", Scully interjected  "...nevermind. It's fine. I was just leaving."  
  
"...is that right, Agent Scully."  
  
"Yeah. Yes. I...actually I wonder if you have a moment to talk..."  
  
"Of course, anytime."  
  
"Thank you-"  
  
"-But I'm afraid that you don't."  
  
"Sir?"  
  
He raised a file folder he was carrying.  "This came down from on high."  
  
Mulder started to laugh, deep hysterical sound.  
  
"The hell's wrong with you Mulder-"  
  
Scully gently touched Skinner's arm lightly. "I'm... I'm sorry Sir, but we can't."  
  
"You can't."  
  
"I...it's just... not a good time."  
  
"Not a good time. Agent Scully. FBI."

"Yes. Sir."

"Well good time or no, unless one of you quits or the pair of you do, if you wanna keep working here you do the cases you're assigned."

  
Mulder huffed as he spoke: "Sir-" but was halted:  
  
"Agent Mulder if the next words outta your mouth aren't "Yes sir" or "Thank you" then feel free to leave your badge and your weapon with the guard on the way out."  
  
Mulder's jaw worked but he said nothing, quietly fuming.  
  
Skinner looked to them both, paternal and disappointed. "People are dying here Agents. And you're wasting time."  
  
He looked at Mulder and then at Scully but neither one met his eyes.  
  
Scully leaned slightly toward him "Walter, please, just a moment of your time-"  
  
"It'll keep Agent Scully. When you get back ask Kim to book you a block."  
  
She stepped back, embarrassed, and Mulder whooped a tight laugh out loud.  
  
"Daylight's burning." Skinner told them, dismissing them from himself. "Work this shit out between you and just do your damn jobs."  
  
He left them in silence. They heard his footsteps climb the stairwell and then they were alone.  
  
"I'll..I'll meet you at the gate." Mulder said exhausted, standing up to head out.  
  
"No." Scully murmured, shaking her head. "No. No, I won't..."  
  
"Hey. Scully. Come on-"  
  
She sneered at the name and stared him down as she spoke. "You fly if you want. I'm gonna drive."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Fine."  
  
She was half way to the door when he tried one last time: "Don't you even think about taking my Mustang." he said, seriously playful, hoping for a smile.  
  
She didn't smile. She went still. Turned to him with hard eyes. "Yours, huh? That's funny...it was my name on the bill."  
  
He's trying to explain that it was just a joke "Ah Scully cmon I was just-

She stared at him cold and unmoving and tall. "Your mustang huh Mulder? You saying your bullshit unibomber scribbling brought in Doctor money that you never told me about?"  
  
He snarls at her cruelty. "I thought you said you were leaving."  
  
"Go to hell Mulder." she sneers and walks out. 

"Well, you know Scully..." he shouts back, "...Hell wouldn't be the same without you!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tension isn't will they or won't they, its oh my god... what happens now?


	3. Tactics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She weaponized beauty when she was mad, and he resented her for that, as she took aim at him.

So, of course, she’d taken the Mustang. 

“Subtle”, he said to her as she walked up to the hospital entrance.

She walked right by him without slowing down. There was no acknowledgement by her of either him or his comment.

“Real subtle…” he muttered, “...Dana…” he grumbled, as he stepped into his stride, following her at enough of a distance that he could still run, should she turn on him.

Hospitals were her turf, and he was already on dangerous ground. He trailed her a few wary paces behind, the gunshot steps of her shoes beating out a fuck you staccato rhythm threatening to give him a headache. He saw, unimpressed, the contrast of her, as her bare lower legs moved under her dark skirt on b.i.t.c.h heels. She weaponized beauty when she was mad, and he resented her for that, as she took aim at him.

Dr. Lawson’s office door was open, and Scully was already knocking on the doorframe and introducing them both by the time he’d caught up..

Dr. Lawson was cordial, kind, and confused.

“I’m sorry, the FBI? Are you looking for the legal department, maybe?”

Scully took the lead: “We were hoping to ask you some questions, Dr. Lawson. You aren’t in any trouble, but you may prove invaluable in assisting in our investigation.”

“Your investigation.” Dr. Lawson narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, it seems you were the attending physician for a number of psychiatric patients who have since gone missing.”

“My god that’s awful. Who?”

“Amanda Bryson, Arkie Sievers-”

“Ahhhh…” Dr. Lawson said, remembering.

“- and Scott Thompson.” Scully finished. Mulder was hanging back, leaning on the corridor wall behind her, bored, but observing the good Dr. Lawson’s reactions.

“Ah, Arkie.” Dr. Lawson said, shaking her head sadly. 

“You remember him?” Scully asked.

“Hard to forget a name like Arkie. Poor boy.”

“Ah,” Mulder chimed in. “...as names go, it’s not so bad…” Dr. Lawson chuckled softly, and Scully ignored him.

“No, no, I meant in regards to his health. None of my patients are terribly well, but Arkie had it worse than some.” Dr. Lawson said sadly, shaking her head. “He’d stopped coming to his appointments, a little while back.Come to think of it...the other two names that you mentioned...I’d have to check my files but if i recall they presented with similar symptoms…”

“So we were told.” Scully confirmed.

“Well.” Dr. Lawson looked first to Mulder, then to Scully, addressing them both. “I’m certainly happy to help in any way that I can.”

“We’d like to ask you a few questions about how they presented under your care.” Scully told her, but Dr. Lawson frowned.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully… I wish I could help but I’m bound by certain laws and regulations about all this. I can’t release any information on my patients without good cause or authorization.” Dr. Lawson smiled sadly, sympathetic. “I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve encountered HiPAA in your professions.”

Scully inhaled to speak when Mulder piped up: “Most of the people we ask about are dead.” Scully gasped quietlty sharply in embarrassment and exhaled a long, silent breath. 

Dr. Lawson addressed him, confused again: “Wait, *are* they dead? Before you’d said they were *missing*-”

“The goal is to find them so they don’t *become* dead, Doctor.” Mulder said, humourless, vaguely insulting, if one were sensitive to such things. Scully silently counted to ten, then to five, and then to three.

Dr. Lawson’s frown threatened to become a scowl. “Agents, I’m very sorry, but the law is pretty clear. I can’t divulge anything without proper authorization to law enforcement. I’m very sorry.”

Scully was about to try to smooth things over when Mulder opened his goddamn mouth: “What about another physician? Could you release it to them?” 

Scully started fantasizing about where to dump his body.

Dr. Lawson considered a moment. “It would still take a formal request…” she said, slowly, considering, as Scully’s blood pressure rose and she fought the embarrassed blush off her face. But Dr. Lawson was kind and nodded slightly as she told them that “Yes, in most cases that information could be transferred between physicians as a part of patient care-”

“Ahhhh!” Mulder said, coming up from his slouch. “Then Doctor Lawson, may I present to you,” he said, animated, with a slight flourish of his hand in her direction, “Doctor Dana Scully, M.D.” The big stupid grin on his face bled into his tone. He was sickeningly pleased at his cleverness. Scully closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe slowly. She’d passed a beautiful, deep lake on the drive down, she could probably dump his body there. Of course there was always the forest...

Dr. Lawson looked at them and then at Scully, specifically, suspicious of the reveal. “...That’s convenient.” she said, too polite to imply moe.

Scully shook her head and softened her eyes, as a wan smile plead her case. “Convenient, “ she acknowledged, admitted, confessed, “...”and genuine, Doctor.” She smiled through the scrutiny, like she always did.

“Do you practice?” Dr. Lawson asked her, deciding to err on the side of belief.

Scully’s smile was warmer now and but she couldn’t exactly say yes “I...hold a valid licence. She replied, faintly bashful, feeling like she’d been caught exaggerating without cause. Scully changed tactics, trying to stay on target, cause he’d fucked it up now so she might as well try to fix what she could for herself. “If it would help put you at ease we can verify it with the College of Physicians.” Scully replied.

Dr. Lawson nodded, mostly won over. She was still curious, and was dying to know: “The FBI. Good benefits.”

“Oh the best!” Mulder chimed in. Dr. Lawson smiled warmly and continued speaking to Scully: “I’m just dying to know...no, no wait let me guess!” Scully waited patiently as Mulder beamed beside her. “Trauma surgeon.” Dr. Lawson said, her smile asking confirmation.

Scully’s short laugh was genuine and it put both women at ease. She rolled her eyes and made a hand motion near her face, shooing away memories good naturedly. “God knows,” she said warmly, not acknowledging Mulder, “some days it feels like I did. She smiled at DR Lawson, continuing proudly: “No, I actually specialized originally in pathology. Criminalistics. Forensic applications, infectious agents, that sort of thing.”

Dr Lawson made a soft “Ahhh” sound, and Scully kept the smile in her eyes. “Recently, however I’ve re-certified with a focus on neurosurgery.” Hell yes she had, funny, she never really had thought it a source of pride before...

Dr. Lawson nodded to her slowly, curious and impressed. “Oh but you must stay and tell me about it! It’s not every day you meet a brain surgeon, let alone one with good benefits!”

“I’d like that.” Scully said, and she meant it. 

“Please.” Dr. Lawson stepped back from the threshold, indicating the chair in front of her desk with the four fingers of her hand.

“Thank you.” Scully said, patting her coat pocket a moment to make sure her badge was there. She shrugged her coat off elegantly as she stepped in.

Mulder’s fox-in-the-henhouse grin was plastered to his face as he fairly bounded inside the office behind her, but he was stopped with a slight ‘whuff” of unexpected inhalation as his exuberant momentum shoved his chest into her vertical palm.

“Not you.” she said, distinct, uncaring, expecting him to obey. “You stay out here.” she continued. Mulder narrowed his eyes and his grin was gone.

“And take this.” she commanded, stepping closely to him to pass him her jacket. It was warm but cooling, divorced from the heat of her body, and he didn’t so much accept it as it was thrust upon him. Thrust with it in a quick sleight of hand motion was her gun from her shoulder holster, hidden under her suit jacket. It was cold and dead in his hand as she hid it in the folds of the coat. 

He opened his mouth to protest but she shook her head quickly: No. She made a slight shooing motion with her fingers at his chest.

He paused a moment and then nodded at the two of them cordially. “Well, you know what they say: two’s company, and all that.”

He folded her jacket over his arm like a valet, keeping her gun and her badge secret from prying eyes. He smiled warmly at the women. Dr. Lawson returned the smile. Dr. Scully did not.

“Ladies, if you need me I will be in the cafeteria. You would not *believe* what they try to pass off as food on the airlines these days.” he said by means of good-bye. Dr.Lawson chuckled a few times, and Mulder acknowledged the kindness by nodding again, as in “much obliged”.

He was walking away when he heard Dr. Lawson speak: “You’ll have to make a formal request…” he heard her tell Scully.

He heard Scully ask “May I borrow your pen?” as she shut the office door, and as Mulder walked did not think about how he was walking *away* from her now, with all all proof and all emblems that tied them together now in his care, and hidden by dark wool. 

He absolutely did not think about it, no sir he did *not*.


	4. Treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “‘Unlikely’ was the Red Sox winning the World Series. This is as close to impossible as the asymptote will allow."

Muffins, like cupcakes, he’d once informed her, were not meant to be eaten but devoured, in as many as two bites or less. 

He was one bite into the third muffin when she crept up behind him.

“It’s not conclusive-” she began, loud, having snuck up behind him on little cat feet, which, like how,in those heels, he’d never been able to figure out-

“Gah!” he cried, startled. A slight upward twitch on one side of her lips was all she would allow herself of a sadistic smile at his embarrassment. She did not say she was sorry. He wiped crumbs off his tie.

“- but all three patients did exhibit similar symptoms.” she finished, coming to stand in front of him, the gulf of a formica table between them.

He nodded. “They all saw their doubles. Interacted with them. All three.”

Her jaw worked back and forth. “Purportedly.” she allowed.

“So-” Mulder began, inhaling deeply to power another long diatribe.

She cut him off. “But you have to consider the source.”

“Source-s-”. He said, leaning back, pointing at her, the wind not nearly taken out of his sails.

“They are unreliable narrators, at best.” she remarked, correctly.

“Ah, when has that ever stopped us.” he said with half a grin.

She did not correct him on the use of the word “us”, rather than “me”. She closed her eyes and breathed a deep calming breath.

“All of these patients,” she began, beginning to get annoyed, “...were severe psychiatric cases. Textbook schizoaffective symptoms. Dissociative identity issues. It’s a miracle they knew who or where they were, most days.”

“I’ve had weekends like that.” he quipped, and she frowned.

She crossed her arms and looked down. “It's not funny, Mulder." She shuffled a foot and he had to strain to hear her. "It’s a special kind of hell.” she said, empathic. She raised her head, tilting it to him, focused again. 

“To say nothing of the substance abuse.” she continued. "When you’re that out of sync, god knows you’ll take anything you can get your hands on for even a modicum of relief.” 

Her slightly ticked up eyebrow and knowing lilt in her voice were practically taunting him to ask. He’d had his suspicions about Charlie Scully, but the family didn’t talk about it, and the one time he’d asked her she’d changed the subject.

So he didn’t ask, but drummed his fingers on the countertop instead. 

“And yet they all agree..." he said, quietly. "And you're going to tell me there's nothing important in that fact?".

"It is very likely coincidence. Simple chance." she said, unmovving. "Bad luck."

He shook his head in disbelief and couldn't look at her. The skeptic doctor he could take, but the obstinate, hard headed, investigator he couldn't. He started to feel warm. Challenged. Embarrassed, for them both.

"These symptoms…” he began, focused, eyes narrowing, questioning her, “...these disorders, on their own, individually, are incredibly rare wouldn’t you agree?”

She had to give him that. “The combination is uncommon.” she admitted ceeding no ground.

His fingers drummed again. “Improbable, even.” he said, *at* her, low.

She didn’t want to play, and exhaled her frustration. “I couldn’t comment on it.” she said, and his eyes widened, bemused. She tried to dismiss him: “It’s not my field.”

He was fake impressed. “Wow,” he said, amusement on his face. “First time for everything I suppose.” She kept her stare on him as he toyed with the dead bird of her competence.

He leaned back and rocked slowly on the back legs of his chair. “Well, I may not be no fancy Doctor…” he drawled, adding emphasis near the end, “...and it may not be *your* field, but it is *mine*. I do keep up, you know.” 

He scratched under his chin with the back of his hand, almost sneering. “In between manifestos.” he said, very, very quietly. 

She said nothing and hoped that it looked like she felt nothing as well.

He smiled his bloody, chicken-feathered fox’s grin again. “I ain’t got no fancy MD, doc, but I does got me some book learnin.” he said, confident, playful, fuck you. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, exasperated. Unbelievable. 

He pursed his lips at her reaction, slight cruel amusement still on his face. “You know, from, Oxford.” he said, bragging. “University." he boasted. "In England.” he finished. 

He tilted his head up, proud, and summoned his best upper class backhanded compliment voice as her face threatened to expose a scowl. “Though I’m sure the University of Maryland is charming it its own way.” he tutted, dismissively.

The scowl broke free “Look-” she spat, but he talked over her words, letting the frustration colouring his voice cut her off.

“So let me tell you, Agent Scully, that when I say these disorders appearing concurrently is rare, I mean its cream-your-pants-as-a-researcher rare.” He held up his index finger as he straightened his posture and stared her down. “If you get *one* case like this in a lifetime, you have enough to make a career. And that’s in a large hospital. So just think of the odds of it happening here, in this rinky-dink town, in this mockery of a clinic.”

She was trying very hard not to beat him to death. “I will grant you that this scenario is unlikely-”

“‘Unlikely’ was the Red Sox winning the World Series. This is as close to impossible as the asymptote will allow. Doctor Lawson should play the lottery, though God knows in terms of career distinction she’s already won. Three goddamn people, Scully, and you wanna argue about it. Play it down. Waste my time.”

She spied his bottle of gatorade, half empty, and took it, taking a deep, refreshing pull. It was that, or shoot him and claim insanity. 

“Help yourself.” he said, insulted. She swallowed hard, unsatisfied, more thirsty and aggravated by the salted aftertaste in her mouth. She frowned as she looked into the mouth of the bottle. God who drank the blue ones anyway? 

“You left it on amber.” she said, taking another deep swig.

He made a face that indicated he was not amused. He jerked his head towards the flavourless half-muffin, forlorn in its wet paper shell. “You want the rest of my breakfast too?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” she said. One dimple slightly lifted and malicious playfulness flooded her eyes. “I ate on the way down.”

His eyes went wide, hurt, confused, panicked, surprised, like she’d shown him a picture of his mother, naked. He drew his brows together in pain and slapped an open palm to his heart, over acting and pretending to stagger.

“Scully, no! No, dear God, please! Tell me you went inside to eat!”

She had but she had left a single, grease free hamburger wrapper in the footwell of the passenger front seat, crumpling it artistically to make it just so, just to fuck with him.

She put on her straight face and just tipped her head to the side slightly.

“Not in the *car*! Oh Stella! Stella!” he cried, elongated, channeling Brando. 

She almost gifted him a laugh but the hurt they’d inflicted on each other over the last 24 hours made her stifle it, harshly, and simply ignore him. She finished off the gatorade and brought the bottle down heavily, the sound of it, hollow, empty, done, making a nice, punctuating statement. 

He straightened immediately, comically, saying, deadpan: ”You know that cost me three and a half bucks.”

“Four.” she said, gathering her coat from the seat in front of him.

He shook his head at her, mock insulted: “No, no, then I’d have to arrest them for robbery.”

“Four patients, Mulder.” she said, putting her coat on. His eyes widened, surprised, briefly, and then pleased. 

“Where-”

“Third floor, room eight.” she said, pleased with herself, and the flower of a smile bloomed on his face.

“Well why didn’t you say so, come on let’s get crackin!” he sing-songed, exuberant and excited. He was a blur of movement as he cleaned up after himself, stuffing napkins down the throat of the empty bottle, and shoving the rest of the muffin in his mouth.

He was starting to stride towards the recycling and then the elevators, chewing and thinking, when her firm grip reached out and caught him at the wrist. It was uncomfortably strong and it only relaxed a fraction when he turned surprised eyes to her.

“I wanna make something clear to you, Agent Mulder...” she said, sneering faintly. He chewed once, twice, slowly, like a cow with its cud.

She let go of his wrist and he wondered if when he looked at his hand he would find he’d been burned.

She was chemical cold as she spoke to him in a tone that was dangerously, dangerously sincere:

“Do not ever use my credentials like that again.” she said. He swallowed once, dry mouthed.

She continued: “If that had gone south, if anyone had complained, or taken umbrage, or just decided not to play ball, that would have been it. You would have effectively ended my medical career.”

He had the good grace to look pained, mournful. But he didn’t say sorry. They didn’t say that to each other anymore.

She stepped slightly closer towards him and he found himself intimidated, maybe even scared. She seethed out the rest of her words. “You do not get to use me or my medical license like that ever again, assuming there would even be a chance for you to do so.” 

And he *was* scared, but he was getting angry now too, because there it was again, the threat of her leaving...still, he knew he was wrong, about his actions, at least.

He nodded his understanding and swallowed the rest of his mouthful o’ muffin. She nodded back to him and then, remarkably, her eyes softened. 

“Never. Again.” she said tugging primly her sleeve, “...but smart thinking.” 

She tilted her head in a kind of pseudo compliment, and he was left speechless as he watched her walk away. He saw her step onto the elevator just as he’d recovered from the shock.

He bought another three dollar gatorade and chugged it frat style as he waited, alone, for the elevator, not thinking about anything at all.


	5. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scully wasn’t known for pranks, though it occurred to him that she wasn’t known for her forgetfulness either.

The elevator door opened and he saw her in the hallway, standing in front of the wrong door.

She was going from room to room in the hallway, looking for patient names, reading the chart, shaking her head slightly when she realized that that room wasn’t it, and then moving one room over to start the process again.

“Hey.” he said. She turned to him with a small embarrassed smile. She sheepishly tucked her hair behind her ears, a reflexive movement.

“Hey.” she said, softly. “Sorry. What room? Remind me?”

Scully wasn’t known for pranks, though it occurred to him that she wasn’t known for her forgetfulness either. He erred on the side of caution. 

 

“308.” he told her, and she nodded, satisfied.

 

“That’s the one. Sorry.” She touched his arm lightly in gratitude.

Mulder was concerne. “Scully, he asked, “are you okay?”

She looked at him funny when he called her that. He rolled his eyes.

“Fine, *Dana*, are you ok?”

“Yeah I’m…” she eyeballed him, because now SHE was concerned. She shook her head at him. Both of them chalked it up to stress. “I’m fine,” she said, and he was about to groan when she added “just a headache. Starting. I should be alright ‘til we get back.”

Mulder blinked at her, stone faced, and thought he ought to contribute. “The air in here isn’t great.” he said, monotone, because it wasn’t and what else was he gonna say.

It did stink on this floor, though. Whatever the platonic opposite of that manufactured “linen fresh scent was” it was here, and it was assaulting both his sense of smell, and taste. God it practically clung to the back of his throat on the way down to his lungs. It reminded him of the recirculated air on airplanes, but with harsh notes of ammonia and school buses.

“Unf, no it isn’t, is it?” Scully said with a hand to her stomach and sticking her tongue out slightly. She shook it off and straightened.“Well,” she said, “all the more reason to get on with it then.”

She turned and walked with purpose toward 308. He followed, after a moment.

She stopped at the door and did a once over of the chart there.

“This is her.” she said, tapping a nail on the plastic holder that showed medication logs, schedules, restrictions, for easy reference. “Ruth Davidson. But we’re supposed to call her Judy, if we want anything helpful from her.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Thinks she’s Judy Garland.” she said, looking up at him. She shrugged. He hummed his assent.

Scully put a hand to the door handle and thought a moment, turning her face to him, soft, open.

“Hey...rescue me if I need to tap out?” she asked. She looked away from him, embarrassed. “I know it's been years since Jerse but…”

What the fuck? “Jerse? Ed Jerse? What does he have anything to do with-”

“No, no, nothing you’re right. You’re right it’s just…” she looked at him sadly. “Never been totally comfortable with schizophrenic patients after that.” she shook her head. “Nevermind. I’m just tired.”

He panicked a little, inwardly. He kept his face blank.

She gave him a small smile. “Forget I said anything. C’mon, let’s go play Good Cop Mulder Cop.” 

There was a word in his head and that word was DANGER.

“...Okay”. he said, not understanding but not wanting to show it. 

She smiled a soft smile. “Thanks.” she told him meaning it truly.

Now he was really scared.

“Yup.” He nodded, and stopped looking at her.

She faced the door again and exhaled a deep breath, preparing.

She knocked softly at the door, opening it slightly and asked its sole occupant if they could come in.


	6. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, he thought. I guess I’m the Good Cop.

Her name was Judy and she was out of her goddamn mind.

Her room was a delirious homage to the spectacle of the motion picture. Torn, ragged edge pictures that had belonged in old mould smelling books were pasted all over the walls...somehow. Mulder purposefully didn’t think about it, and looked up to distract himself. The madness bled into the ceiling, but as near as he could figure, only insofar as she could reach. 

“Oh, please... no.” Judy drawled as she shooed them away with a snobbish look and a disdainful flick of her stubby mitten shaped hand. “No autographs today!”

Mulder looked at Scully but Scully was observant and focused on the sick woman before them. Judy threw her hands up when she realized they weren’t going to leave, and turned towards her nightstand. 

“Reginald, good *God*, is this what I pay you for?” she huffed, chiding her bedside lamp. “Some bodyguard you are.”. She turned with an exasperated sigh towards her two visitors, rolling her eyes “Ten dollars a *week* and he still lets the riff raft through.” Judy muttered to herself.

The lamp was non committal.

Scully jumped in with both feet: “It’s Judy, isn’t it? It’s such a pleasure to meet you” 

“Madame Garland to you, sweetheart.” she said with a slight sneer. She raised an eyebrow as she spied Mulder beside her. “You…” she said, much more politely, looking Mulder up and down, “...well now you can call me Judy any old time.”

Mulder smiled tightly, but Scully rescued him instead. “Madame Garland, then.” Scully continued, apology in her tone. “I’m so sorry, we aren’t here for autographs. We’re with the police. We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”

Judy raised an eyebrow. “You’re out of uniform.” She leered at Mulder. “Shame.”

“We’re a... special unit,” Scully continued, rewording the truth. “We... work the most important of cases. With the most discerning of witnesses. That’s why when we heard all about these mysterious happenings, we new right away that we were the ones who should go straight to you. Any other team would ah...be wasted on someone as important as you.” 

Judy was pleased, and smiled as she twiddled a grease pencil between her index and middle fingers, bringing it to her mouth.

“Got a light?” she asked Mulder, as she sauntered ever closer to him on fat hips and bad joints.

Scully watched her as Judy tossed an imaginary fur shawl around one shoulder. Mulder noted that Scully seemed uncharacteristically comfortable in this interrogation. Softer. Sympathetic. Or...devious, he thought. Maybe she was playing into delusion to get what she wanted. Or maybe she was just cruelly showing off, demonstrating now, like before, that he wasn't needed. She was the doctor and now also the profiler. What the hell did she need him for?

Judy gave an impatient cough, and Mulder shook away his dangerous thoughts and considered the short lump wheezing in front of him.

Well, he thought. I guess I’m the Good Cop.

He reached into his jacket pocket and brought nothing from it’s depths, just his own hand, curled at the fingers, with his thumb sticking up. He reached out towards the blunt tip of the pencil as she closed her eyes and exposed her throat to him as she leaned in slightly. At the end of the pencil he made a small downward motion of his thumb once and then, twice. 

“Ah, there we are.” he said, on the third try. At his words, Judy began to suck in air and puff, as the cigarette in her mind caught the flame of his thumb, and lit up.

“Gotta love a man who comes prepared.” Judy said, blowing imaginary smoke out of the side of her mouth. She sashayed over to a soft padded chair and perched upon it, half leaning, as if on a fainting couch.

“Now then, Officers,” she said, slightly bored. “How can I help?”

Scully moved in a little closer and bent to sit on the floor, her legs at one side, mermaid style, as she prostrated herself before The Great Madame Garland. Scully leaned in closely and spoke with great reverence to the supposed grand dame of cinema.

“There are...certain important people who have claimed...troubles, recently, and who have reached out for our help.” she told Judy.

Judy’s eyes narrowed. “Which people?”

Scully shook her head, coy and girlish, and Mulder supposed there had to be a first time for everything, though two in one day was testing his limits. 

Scully spoke quietly, a stage whisper. “Of course, discretion is of the utmost importance. But, I can certainly say that you all travel in...similar circles.”

Mulder fought back hard against a smile. 

Judy nodded her head and touched a knowing finger to the side of her nose. Scully dipped her head and closed her eyes, and that one small expression seemed to convey ‘yes, people just like you, famous, fabulously so’ to the mentally ill woman before her.

Judy straightened, and acted nonchalant, but her actions indicated interest, the boredom simply feigned. “It’s nothing to do with this communist claptrap again is it?” she eyed Scully warily. “I swear that man won’t let well enough alone!”

Scully smiled softly and shook her head. “No, it’s to do with...certain fans, who may be trying to usurp the identities of these powerful people. I believe you may have encountered such a fan yourself.”

“Have I! Well why didn’t you say so? Goodness me it certainly took you people long enough!”

Scully dipped her head in mock shame, and when she looked back up at Judy there was a plea in her eyes. Or was that venom, Mulder wondered, clearly just along for the ride.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Scully asked Judy softly.

“They gave me the fright of a lifetime is what happened! Imagine! Just getting off stage from my sold out broadway show and there they are, nice as you please, in some sort of fancy makeup that makes them look exactly like me! Must have seen the show before too - you know I would check the ticket stubs.” Judy rambled, under the impression her incite would finally crack this whole thing wide open.

“What makes you think so-” Scully started, before Judy cut her off.

“Well they were dressed exactly in my costume! They must have seen me before! Good heavens do you people not read the reports I’ve been sending you?”

“Our sincerest apologies.” Scully said with great sincerity. Or maybe mockery, frankly at this point he was so braindead and bone tired, he couldn’t be sure.

“Well. I should hope so.” Judy scolded. She blinked slowly as she turned to address Mulder. “Now you, I forgive.”

Mulder’s tight smile became uncomfortably so.

Scully was sliding closer to Judy, her voice low, confidential, very hush hush.

“Madame,” she whispered, ”they sent me along so that a gentleman wouldn’t have to ask a lady such as yourself any... indelicate questions.”

Mulder was impress and vaguely disturbed. Scully oozed delicate femininity along with her sycophant’s tone.

“What sorts of indelicate questions?” Judy asked, leaning slightly towards Scully’s lower form.

Scully brought a hand to her chest, oh pained even to ask: “Were you harmed by this person? At all? In *any* way?”

Judy straightened and waved away such nonsense. “No, no, dear girl, nothing like *that*. It was just queer was all, vexing.” she looked down on Scully and addressed her directly with apology in her still overbearing tone. “Excuse me, my dear. That’s another word for ‘startle’”, she said with a nod.

It wasn’t but rather than actually become vexed, Scully simply smiled warmly in gratitude, and Mulder thought that might be predation in her eyes. 

Scully pressed onwards: “How many times have you seen this person, this...double...if you will?”

“Ha!” Judy forced a fake laugh. “Oh, only *every* time I step out of my god damn dressing room ah...I’m sorry your name was...”

“Scully.”

Judy hummed. “So they let the Irish and the Jews work together now, do they?” Judy mimed fussing with long silken evening gloves, muttering to herself. “Well, the decline and fall has to start somewhere.”

Scully’s smile was softer as her eyes hardened. “Madame,” she said, rising above it, “...when was the last time you left your dressing room?”

“Oh, weeks now, weeks!” Judy despaired. She turned to the lamp. “My tax dollars at work.”

Scully pounced: “Would you be amenable to accompanying me outside, just for a moment?” 

Judy was aghast at the merest suggestion: “What, looking like *this*? Give those newsreel vultures a nice juicy shot? No, no…” she started to rise, halfway to dismissing them. “No, I don’t think so.”

Scully spoke soothingly and calmly started trying to convert her, but Mulder had been watching and Mulder had an idea. True, he was Oh-and-One on ideas today, but he had decided to stop giving a shit as soon as the stench of the ward had first assaulted his nostrils. So what the hell.

Mulder moved to the door in swift precise movements, and pressed his back against the adjacent wall as he looked out the thick plastic non-shatter window of the door. He peered beyond the window with quick, cautious movements of his head, playing gumshoe, checking for thugs. Scully looked at him and started to say something but he shushed her harshly and raised one hand up as if to say ‘keep quiet, we don’t know how many there may be out there.’

Scully stayed quiet, and Mulder opened the door a crack, just sticking the top of his head around the doorframe, looking left, looking right. He took a long, bold step into the hallway and posed as the door swung shut behind him. His back to the little ladies and framed from his shoulders up by the window, he turned just his head left, in profile, paused a moment, then turned just his head to the right, in profile, checking that direction for mobsters and punks.

He made three large strides left, paused, then returned whence he’d come, and going a further three large strides beyond, but to the right this time. He paused again before turning and striding back to the door. He opened it slowly and crept back inside the room, squeezing through the small opening he allowed himself, as if he was afraid the change in lighting might give him away. He gently closed the door, softening even the click of thedoorknob returning to default.

“We’re clear.” he said, turning to the women, with straight, complete authority. Scully pressed her lips together into a thin line, and swallowed hard. Her eyes were so mirthful they tears threatened to spill over.

Mulder focused on Judy, and held out his hand elegantly to La Grand Dame Garland. 

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind accompanying *me* outside…” he said, courtly, bending ever so slightly at the waist.

Judy raised her hand slowly, flattered and impressed, and placed her sticky palm on his.

“Well now Reginald…” she chided, tilting her head with seductive slowness back towards the lamp, “...seems like someone’s vying for your job.”

Scully choked out a cough as a pretext to cover her mouth.

Judy, enraptured and spellbound, seemed to forget she was there. “Alright, Officer Mulder.” Judy purred, “...but you must promise to hold me if I get scared.”

He heard Scully cough again, but he was working and played on. He led Judy daintily to the doorway, and once he had opened it, stepped through it first.

Judy stiffened as she got close to leaving the threshold. “Oh I’m not sure-” she whispered to herself more than him. But he coaxed her with patience, as one would a scared child and Judy relented, albeit slowly as they shuffled into the hall. 

Judy was anxious, but amenable, and craned her neck to look around, peeking around objects that only she could see. With her small halting steps and his large hands around hers Judy followed her guide Mulder to the middle of the hall.

“Is your double here now, Judy?” Mulder asked her in a tender whisper, moving his thumbs slightly over the fat softness of her lymphedemic hands.

“No…” said softly with none of the haughty faux-royal transatlantic lilt she had spoken with before. Scully padded out softly from the room and stood away from them, her eyes kind and approving. Mulder smiled slightly at her, nodding briefly - sure they could have fun, but Judy was ill, and here at least maybe they could help her come back to herself.

Judy had a faraway look in her eye as if struggling to remember. 

“No, no, I don’t…” she turned to look down the other end of the corridor and Mulder’s hopes died as she went white with shock.

“There! Oh! Oh no, no, no!” Judy babbled with panic, as she pulled her hands out of Mulder’s so fast that he stumbled forward a half step. Judy fled with a swiftness unbecoming of her form, slamming the door on Scully and holding her body’s weight against the door.


	7. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He decided that come what may from this moment, she was enjoying his presence, he had missed this so desperately that he couldn’t be the one to make her stop.

“Judy-” Scully tried, trying to force open the door. The great weight of the Dame on the other side stopped her.

“Get out of here, Red!” Judy screeched, barely muffled, the VIP vowels back in her voice. “Get out and take your little Jew boy toy with you!”

Scully shook her head and exhaled hard. She looked at Mulder with righteousness and protectiveness in her eyes. Mulder just shrugged at her expression, because hey, what can you do.

Scully did not tolerate ignorance lightly at the best of times and in this fetid stale hallway she was beginning to seethe. He touched a finger lightly to her elbow and shook his head when she turned.

Forget it, he implied, with a shrug of his shoulders. She frowned deeply and he missed how she’d been smiling before.

“Ah, you know.” he said to get her attention. She looked up at him, simmering. He half smiled. “It’s the nose.” 

She blinked in confusion as the joke taxied its landing, but a forever half-second later he relaxed as she burst out a quick laugh, surprised and delighted. She shook his head at his antics, chuckling softly as she walked past him toward where Judy had spotted her doppleganger, and Mulder floated in the moment, remembering what it was to be happy again. He watched as she moved at a leisurely pace, hands clasped at her back, pausing on occasion to investigate the odd paint spot or shadow.

At the end of the corridor she turned to face him and shrugged, her arms out to the sides, shaking her head slightly.

“Ain’t nobody here but us chickens, Fox.” she said, and his heart hardened at her use of that word. He thought of plucked feathers and torn throats and blood in his mouth. Name games, he seethed, and wondered if this was all just a plot, to tempt him with morsels before she finally flew off.

He very nearly turned to walk away from her, forever, when he realized the amused grin on her face was harmless, genuine, and that she was skipping very slightly with a playfull rhythm in her walk. He decided that come what may from this moment, she was enjoying his presence, he had missed this so desperately that he couldn’t be the one to make her stop. 

She stopped an arm’s length away with a half-sick expression “...and it smells even worse over there, to boot.”

Mulder was open and wanting and completely at a loss.

Case, said his brain. Keep her interested, keep her smiling, keep talking about case. 

“Judy saw her double.” he said, seducing her with the intrigue.

Scully walked by him towards the elevator, but stopped until he made a move to follow. “Or she thought she did.” she said plainly. “She seems to see many things that aren’t there.”

She pushed the call button for the elevator as he touched her amr and blurted out: “Where did you learn to speak to her like that?” He almost gave her a direct compliment, but his learned cowardice won out.

He expected a glare or maybe even a curse at his question, but she unnerved him with her bright smile as she stepped closely to him. 

“Well,” she said, her voice thick and low as she ran a teasing finger in squiggles slowly down the length of his tie “It’s really *your* fault, rubbing *off* on me all these long years…”.

The blood in his brain was rerouted south and he fought mightily to convince himself that only he took that as a double-entendre. She flicked his tie out of her hands with a coy flutter of her lashes, biting just slightly at her lower lip.

She patted his chest once as a good-bye and started back down the hall saying something about speaking to nurses, but he wasn’t thinking straight, thank god, and he reached out and grasped her hand softly. She stopped, and he expected her to pull away and flee faster, but she stepped back into his space, squeezing his hand, cementing their bond.

He hadn’t expected to get this far with all of his teeth, was therefore unprepared. 

“I, uh...” he stammered, getting flustered and hot, “...I’m just so glad you’re…” he searched for a word, "...*here*."

She tilted her head and was politely confused, but she was patient and calm and swung their clasped hands between them as she waited for his follow up explanation, which he didn't have.

Silence threatened his pride and he started to panic, convincing himself that he’d really fucked up when she closed the small gap that separated their bodies. She brought her free hand to his stomach, flat palmed, and slowly moved it up as she leaned her body against his. Her hand moved up to his heart, and she scratched her nails gently above it, before her hand lifted slightly to thread his tie through her fingers. Her sigh was a soft breath on the side of his jaw, and she tugged his face down to hers gently as she closed her eyes.

Her lips were warm against his, in both context and implication. She caressed him so softly and with such earnest tenderness that he fought back a whimper at the glimmering truth of it. She lingered but not overly, and smiled as she pulled back, her nose slightly nuzzling his jaw.

If he had been capable of rational thought, he’d have gathered her to him and kissed the breath from her lungs, rather than stand there, dumb, as she chuckled and unwound his tie from her grasp. She winked one eye at him, secretive, demure, and tapped the tip of one finger gently against the tip of his nose.

“I’ve been here the whole time.” she said as she booped him. She stepped a few inches back, smiling. “Been right here, all along, under your big fat nose.” she said teasing.

He had to let go of her hand because she needed to use it, and it disappeared into her pocket only to return with a folded sheet of paper. She presented it to him between her index and middle fingers, and for some reason it was the sexiest movement she had ever made.

Confused and aroused, he plucked the paper from her fingers gently with his own fumbling paw, nearly dropping it as his numb fingers refused to help him out. 

“Can you do me a favour-” she asked him, “- and look into whether or not the other three patients had come into contact with any of these substances?” He unfolded the sheet and under Dr. Lawson’s letter head were a dozen or so scribblings in medical jargon he’d have to look up, written in blue ink and the half-cursive she used when she was hurried.

The elevator chimed. She started to walk away satisfied with his non-answer. 

“Have dinner with me.” he blurted out, feeling, not thinking. 

She nodded back at him. “Order something in.” 

She turned her back on him and kept moving away, but raised a finger and sing-songed “Heart healthy, remember!”, before disappearing around a corner.

The elevator almost left without him, but he stopped the closing door with his foot, and stepped into the cab. It was a moment before he remembered that in order to work, he had to push a button.

Heart healthy, he thought, thumbing the 1. He felt the slight patterned texture of the paper in his hand and folded it gently back into quarters. He put it in the inside pocket of his jacket, close to his heart.

“Heart healthy...” he chuckled softly to himself, as the elevator chirped merrily at the end of the ride. He shook his head and walked out, whispering “Sheeeiiiiiit, Scully you don’t even know the half of it.”


	8. Marching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody here but us chickens, he thought, so fuck it, let’s play chicken then.

She missed dinner. And the late show. And the late late late show.

Fine, he thought. It’s cool. Everything is great. It’s. Fine.

  
He was mad at himself but then he reconsidered and decided that no, actually, he was truly, righteously, furious with her. Her and the long con she’d pulled on him. Well played, Scully. He wondered if he should have listened to that little voice in his head, all those years ago. That screamed at him not to trust her, not to trust ANYONE! and wondered if this would have hurt less if he’d just listened to his paranoia and worked harder to boot her out of his life right at the start.

  
Cause goddamn did it hurt. He felt small. Emasculated. Foolish. Embarrassed, that some bitch could just waltz up to him, peck him on the lips and turn him into a willing participant in his own torture.  
Ah, but she wasn’t some bitch; she was his bitch, and that only made it hurt more.

  
Reflux threatened an uncomfortable night even though he hadn’t eaten anything. Their chicken breast burgers and side salads lay untouched on the little room table, cold, congealing, their light, flavourless dressings soaking through into the bread.

  
Heart healthy.

  
He clenched his fists absently as he dissected their last interaction, cracking knuckles and toes and getting stiff in his neck. Her performance with Judy - taunting him with her competence, surely. He thought about her devious intelligence in her double entendre, filling his mind with thoughts of rubbing off TO her, or with her, or on her, like she could ever feel something so basic as excitement, arousal, let alone with him. And of course, he’d fallen for that too, dumb primitive creature that he was, his sex stimulated reptilian brain rendering him helpless to defend himself such deceit.

  
He seethed and flexed muscles errantly about how skillfully she’d slipped through the cracks in his resolve, in his intent never to let her control him like this again. No, she’d slipped through, little spy that she was, and sabotaged his psyche withher tenderness, her lips, her scent and her smile. And he’d let it happen, begged her for more and for dinner and of course she would say yes,her cunning, graceful, stupendously devious infiltration complete. She’d weakened him so much that when she finally decided to land the killing blow, to leave him, for good, forever, she would need but the lightest tap in her strike to shatter him whole.

She was toying with him, he now realized, twisting the knife, getting the last word after all, over and over. His death by a thousand cuts, her abandonment inch by inch. Keep him emotionally blue balled by threatening to leave, then coming back, then repeating the process all over again, until she won or he capitulated or she was satisfied. Leave. Come back. Leave...

  
If she would just do it he could almost respect that. But she played sick games with him, capturing and ransoming his heart and his right mind.

  
It didn’t help that he’d been the one to find Arkie as he doggedly investigated her list, like a good goddamn boy. He had found the young man hanging by a belt hooked over his apartment door, about the same age as Mulder had been when he’d tried it the first time. Blue and bloating, stiffening into rigour as Mulder had feverishly cut him down, Arkie made a dull thud as he hit the floor and his skull cracked open, only there was very little blood because the heart had stopped and would never pump again.

Closing his eyes only brought the image into better focus, and he was relieved when he heard the door to the adjacent room open and shut. Anger, hot anger flooded through him, and swept away the cold grief of another life he couldn’t save.

He moved from the bed with heavy footfalls and flung the connecting door wide.

“Why are you doing this.” he demanded of her, as she stepped back startled at the force of his entrance. He was tall and broad and would not be ignored.

“Jesus, “ she exclaimed, taking a small step back, “...try knocking next time.” Her annoyance blew air out of her lungs and she rolled her eyes as she turned her back on him. “Fuck, Mulder.”

His fingers went numb and his vision was tunnelling under the influence of his rage. He was practically shaking, but she simply chose to ignore both him and his question, starting to undress instead of acknowledging that there was a hurting human being with her in the room. First do no harm didn’t apply to this physician, apparently, as she instead preened the tool of her body, removing her weapons of war.

She began by removing the shining baubles of her earrings, her watch, the stupid goddamn coin at her neck, because she didn’t need them now that she’s played him, she didn’t need her shiny objects to distract him from the ugliness within. He was gigantic and imposing before her, wielding testosterone and dishonour, terrifying to shadow men and suspects alike, and she paid him absolutely no mind.

  
He nearly growled at her silence as insult, and fairly charged into her space. She did not falter, and instead forced him to halt with nothing more than her vertical palm, demanding that he STOP before his righteous onslaught had even begun.

  
And he did, because he was who he was, and they both knew that she knew that she could always count on his feeble, cowardly, noble, well mannered superego to keep him from getting even within striking distance of her forces. Her phalanx fingers, steady and practiced, held him at bay, and he trembled under her defences, while she didn’t look at him at all.

  
His fingers itched to destroy something, break things, shatter objects and bones. He wanted her screeching, or smiling, or crying, or fuming, anything, ANYTHING than the dead mannequin of her as he was pouring his heart out. He wanted a fucking reaction, wanted blood or tears or both, or and he wanted to fight or to fuck something, maybe even her.  
Yet the foppish lame king of his civility prevailed, and he sweat at his brow and his temples as he forced himself still.

“What are you doing to me, Scully.” he demanded with a snarl. He brought a hand up and then downwards, still not even in arm’s length of her. The blade of his hand fell in a cutting motion, indicating he was done. “If you’re gonna go then just go.” he told her, as she undid one button at her collar. “Don’t torture me while you do it.” he insisted, as she took her ducking shoes off, making her shorter. Her casual disdain for the threat of his outrage was such that she didn’t even need the artifice of heels to show him she had the upper hand. She swiped a finger over her eyelids, rubbing off makeup he didn’t even realize she’d had.

Sick fucking bitch.

  
He was livid and heartbroken and her completely detached disaffection for his obvious emotional state only made it that much worse.

  
“Mulder.” she said, looking away from him, returning to the much more interesting business of undoing the buttons at the cuffs of her sleeves. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
she spoke to him, plainly, like he was a child who had just been caught in a fib.

He hadn’t realized that he was expecting basic human empathy from her, until she fully and spectacularly failed to deliver.

  
She started walking around him, done with the embarrassment of him, pulling the hem of her blouse out from the line of her skirt, like he wasn’t even there. He wondered how little attention she could pay to the hurt he was radiating, and decided that she considered him so unworthy of attention she would probably not stop until she was fully nude.

  
He grabbed her wrist in his hand like she’d done to him in the hospital cafeteria, when she’d chastised him with a threat and a thin compliment. His grip was tight and probably painful, at first, but his heart lightened his grasp to something that could almost be soft, even as his limbic system and his dying, wounded pride cried out for him to crush the small bones to dust under the power of his fist.

She winced slightly at the initial grasp, but showed neither fear nor concern nor surprise nor...anything, really, and he marvelled at her ability to act in whatever way she required in order to lead him by the nose towards his own punishment. She expressed total non-commitment to this moment, and if she had allowed herself to feel anything, it would have been 'bored’. He tugged her to him, and she came on the wave, not fighting, seeing no point in expanding the efort. His nostrils flared and blew hor breath onto her lips, but she stared him down as his hand trembled and faltered with the futile enerdy he was investing in his grip.

  
He would massacre her lips, he thought, and maybe then she would cry out, or sigh, or feel angry or scared or excited or aroused. He pulled a corner of his lip back to reveal sharp glistening teeth as he moved to descend onto her mouth with his own. Nobody here but us chickens, he thought, so fuck it, let’s play chicken then.

He would not back down now, not when he could breathe his anger into her body, not when he could get her close enough to touch her with his sadness and grief. A static spark hopped between them as he got so, so close, and when she moved her lips to command him they grazed against his own:

  
“Let go.” she said, breathing evenly, her tone flat.

  
The hand at her wrist tightened as he grit his teeth, his other hand flying to her waist and roughly pulling her to him, informing her just how ready he was to never back down again.

  
She made no move to step back, she didn’t even need to take a breath as prested against her, dizzy, enraged, trying to intimidate her with his eyes and his size.

She blinked twice at him and annunciated fully: “Let. Go. Now.”

  
And just like that, she’d slain all his forces, using the twin trebuchets of his cshame and his guilt. Oh helpless little her, why she didn’t even fight back, and now look, the poor thing, she’s got bruises on her wrist. God was that what he was? He was a gentleman, wasn’t he? Yet, her calmness taunties him, the implied futility of any movement on her part a harsher blow than the bullet she’d shot into his shoulder. He’d refused to unhand her once, already, and did her silence mean that he was just confirming what she already thought of him?

He’d asked her what he’d done to make her think him so cold, but she’d bided her time and waited until now, until she could turn the tables on him, making him question himself.

  
He stepped back as though burned and backed into the dresser, as she stood triumphant without shoes or beauty of any kind. She flicked her lithe talon fingers with their manicured claws once quickly to return feeling should she need them, and then simply waited for him to do whatever he decided to do.

  
Like she didn’t already know.

  
Let go, she’d commanded, and it echoed in his skull. “I already have” he spat as he fled from her form. He retreated to the frame of their connecting door, intent on closing her off from him forever, this time, when the small demon of hope at the bottom of his soil flew from his empty heart out of his mouth:

“Scully,” he said, already half- mourning. “God Scully…why are you doing this to-“

“Goodnight, Agent Mulder”. she informed him, a slight shake of her head serving as a dismissal. She started looking herself over in the dresser mirror, unconcerned and proper, as he fought not to show her his disappointment in himself.

  
He was tired. He was old. He was useless and unneeded, and so he gave up, saying “Good night and good riddance.”

  
The force of his fury made the door rattle as it shut, and the violence in the action mare the arm he’d used tingle. He breathed ragged, sweaty breaths as he listened for her sounds, and only a few seconds later he heard her carry on, like nothing had even happended, and her shower came on.

So he showered too, in the hottest water he could stand. He scalded his body with the hot water he thrilled in diverting from her, and his hatred of her served to scald his soul. He jerked himself roughly with a harsh, chafing grip, convinced that could have gone differently if he was just a better man.


	9. Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She fought so hard, so hard, to keep her composure, and he knew that, goddamn it, he knew why she did

She’d cried as she showered and was almost violently ill. What was he accusing her of, she wondered, that they knew full well she deserved?

Whatever suspicion or hatred he kept hidden from her, it wasn’t nearly enough when weighed against the devastation she’d knowingly brought into their lives. 

She opened her mouth and wished the hot water could burn her from the inside out, total immolation of her sins and herself.

She spat, fighting bile rising up in her throat, and as as it left her she wished it was the thick shining dark red of her blood. If they’d both come to blows, if they’d just wailed in each other, maybe the truth of it all would come out, and they could try healing together.

God, what was happening to them and could it even be stopped?

She was so tired of feeling so damn much all the time. It consumed so much of her energy just to keep everything inside. The job stress alone was hard enough sometimes, without even considering her personal loss. She fought so hard, so hard, to keep her composure, and he knew that, goddamn it, he knew why she did. He knew, they both did, that the tiniest crack could bring down the ramshackle dam keeping the ocean at bay. She kept a grip on her sanity by divesting herself of any feeling, good or bad, lest even the smallest vibrations bring her whole world crashing down.

Yet he picked and he picked and now she was here, sunk down on her knees, hands propping herself up, shivering and gritting her teeth against the frigid stabbing drops. This, she could handle, the assault on her form, and she’d come to crave the numbing torrent beating her down. She was allowed here, to cry, because that was what humans did when they experienced physical pain, so if she was crying because her body was uncomfortable, well, that she could allow, in private, once in awhile.

If she shivered and trembled, it was because of the cold, and not the festering wounds of her fright and her loss. If her stomach was cramping and throat raw from sobs, then that was just simply autonomic reaction to the drop in her temperature. It was a physical reaction to a physical stimulus, and not the ache in her empty, useless body that she’d fought so hard against to finally bear them a son.

Of course it was her fault, of course she’d entrapped him and of course she’d carried the weight of her greed ever since then. He’d been so kind not to mention it, until now, and at times she’d almost forgotten how her monumental insecurity had ended up costing them.

She wrapped numb arms around herself as her teeth chattered in the storm. She grit them together and she huddled into herself. She wanted no warmth inside her to drive her ever again, and she hoped as she slipped into the empty mind that pain always provided in such times. 

Her fear had controlled her back then, lovelorn and drifting into isolation from the world. Her own family distant, some of them dead, by the seventh year of their partnership, and at some point she realized all she had left that could love her was him. And she feared for herself, because what if he were gone. Dead or hurt or in love with someone else?

Adrift. Alone. Obsessively needy. Her joy at their union opened doors through which anything could pass. She’d seen it before in patients and in victims, that any emotion could trigger a post-traumatic response. The happier she was the worse was her downfall; their sweet caresses at noon could do demolish her defences that her memories and trauma came howling from her when she was alone with herself.

She’d been manic and mad and depressed and did nothing about it, tricking herself into thinking she knew better. But as they got closer, any distance stung just that much harder, and soon she obsessed over the need to be loved, forever, without higher priority or the taint of trauma and death.

So she focused on children, and it was so, so much easier. The world practically fed into her madness, with gloss covered magazines extolling the virtues of motherhood at damn near every checkout. Children’s toys in doctor’s offices, car seats in vehicles she passed. The fawning attention of perfect strangers towards pregnant women in public. The deference, the respect, thousands of years of society and the species egging her on.

She heard the siren call despite her husked barren womb, and if she focused on how she could make this a reality then she wouldn’t have to focus on fear or sadness or anything else.

She saw doctors, specialists, damn near a dozen. She just needed one child, she could settle for one.

She just needed one pregnancy, one baby, one child, one life, on which to focus and obsess and on whose love she could depend.

God tempted her with the revelation of the found ova he brought her, God damned them all when she fell from his grace.

She thought of the offer he’d made him all those years ago, as the pin prick of nerves in her legs crept up from the cold in her feet. It was win win for her, because no matter what, he had honour and was noble and he could never be totally out of their child’s...out of her life. Of course he’d say yes. She’d practically ensured it by purposefully not asking for anything more.

She had thought that they would find themselves both deeply entwined to her life and her being, and that soon they could both be convinced of their happiness in this. 

And then he died, and he left her, before he’d known he was a father, and their child didn’t stop it, and now their child never would. He’d taken her place in that night in Belleflower because the sick chain with which she bound him grew unknown inside her, and as his child rebelled in her womb she’d grown sickly and weak, so he martyred himself with an abduction that was rightfully hers.

He remembered everything, everything, she was still terrified to realize, and despite all their closeness, he had never, ever spoken of it. It had been years after his death before he’d fully returned to himself, before he’d fully processed the damage enough for him to feel like he still had a deserved a place in his life.

Her irrational emotions got them all into this mess, and she’d sworn to herself that they never would again. So she did what she could with sedatives and cold showers, emptying herself at night so she could bare to face him in the morning.

All she’d ever wanted was love, and now they were here. She prayed to a God that no longer believed in her for guidance and strength, but felt only the bone cold of frigid waters and the chattering of her teeth.


	10. Mulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look at me…” he growled, and his gaze held her eyes

She was half sedative sleeping when she felt the dip in her bed. In her half dream the rowboat in which she was lounging tossed lightly in the waves.

She stayed between worlds as strong arms curled around her, feeling soft warm rays of sunlight behind big fluffy clouds. Rough lips kissed her shoulder and small winds kissed her neck. A hand smoothed over her stomach and a smooth rock dug into her back.

 

The hell, she thought, turning over from her sunbathing to examine the bottom of the boat. She saw only smooth planks wherever she looked. An insect bit her back while she was distracted in her search, and Scully woke nearly fully with a start and a small snort.  
She tried to go back to her sea but was tethered by a slight chuckle behind her. 

“Sorry,” he said, in a thick sleepy voice. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” he said, as she fought for her bearings.

“Just needed mah cuddles,” he sighed, holding her tightly, warm, close, ever so slightly on edge. His great nose stirred her hair as he nuzzled into her neck. “Rough fuckin day.” he exhaled and admitted.

She turned in his arms and faced him, fighting to keep her eyes open for long periods of time.

“Wha-“ she said, ending in a yawn.

“Arkie died.” he said sadly. He tensed all around her. “I, uh...I found him.” he shuddered bringing his lips to her shoulder.

“Oh.” She said softly, as she slowly remembered.  
“Oh.” She repeated as it finally dawned on her.

He squeezed her closer one as his mouth kissed a slow line to her neck. “You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” he confessed, “...but ah, sometimes it hits me harder, when they’re young.” He sucked gently at her collarbone and his fingers on her lower back tensed and pressed into her. “Tough age.” He muttered, wistful, pensive.

She blinked once, sedate as she tilted her head on reflex to let him continue. Mmm, she intoned. If she tried very hard she could see her rowboat on the horizon.   
He snuggled his face into her neck, under her jaw and she was comfortable and sleepy, and the water was blue and the sunlight was warm.

He kissed her lips softly before bedding back down and that slight wave woke her fully, if slowly. “Mulde—“ she wondered, not quite sure yet where her sentence was going, but he brought his forehead to hers gently and started shaking his head no, no.  
The sea is behind her, and their living bodies make waves on the land. He flutters his hand gently on her, her back and her leg. The covers move with his motions and she is transfixed.  
He brings his hand to her hair and just feels the rough texture of it against the pads of his fingers. She brings both palms to his chest and pushes away slightly, but she’d been punishingly cold as she forced sleep in herself, and now he was here and he was oh, so warm.  
“Mul- what?” she said, pushing back with her hands, but throwing one traitorous leg over his. She drew them closely together and he moaned at the contact. She bit her lip to silence her own silken sigh, and she breathed into the sensation, letting it roll over her.

He shook his head and closed his eyes tightly. “Dana,” he hushed, perfect, low. “I don’t...I don’t wanna be Mulder right now.“ his sincerity moved both their bodies ever slightly.

She fought for control so she didn’t embarrass herself. “Who’d you wanna be, then?” She asked, her words whispered into his hair.

He squeezed her once tightly, trying to burrow closer to her heart.

“Just me.” He breathed, sadly. I just wanna be Fox.”

 

He kneaded and pulled at her thigh round his leg, and she was drowsy and warm and didn’t understand. What does, she started, shaking her head. She brought one hand to his cheek and traced his jaw lightly.  
She took a moment to gather herself before she spoke again, clearly.

“So, then, be Fox.”  
She didn’t know what he meant by all this, but as he shifted it seemed to her that he did.  
He lifted his head from her shoulder, and pulled at her leg. They both inhaled sharply as the wave ripples through them. Her eyes closed and her lips parted to let out a breath, and he seized the opportunity to bring her lips to his own.   
He was warm and familiar, a blanket around the shivering pillar of her soul. He brought his palm to her breast and she was surprised at his forward ness. She meant to protest, really she did, but her traitorous body arched into his touch, and forced movement against him that made him shivering her arms.  
He kneaded her gently as more of a massage, and she relished the soothing weight of his touch. He was kind and giving and so unusually slow, that she couldn’t help her reactions, fighting hard not to any as she drew him in close.  
He could feel she was ready even through layers of cloth, and she felt the thrill of anticipation that he would enter her soon. Instead he lingered on a farewell caress before moving both hands upwards to frame her face. She blinked at him slowly and wondered what he was doing. She pressed against him, informing, that she was ready, in case he hadn’t noticed.  
He smiled gently and brought the tip of his nose softly to hers, moving slightly and chuckling at the little schoolyard caress.  
There as a question in her eyes but he didn’t notice, as his eyes were drawn to the the plump fruit of her lips. He bit his own as he contemplated, and the intensity of his interest in just that single part of her made her sigh out a moan.   
He brought his lips a hair’s breadth away from hers pressing just slightly into their texture, barely any contact at all. He painted her lips softly, gently, and kept that same distance whenever she moved to close it. Her fingers flexed in frustration but he soothes her with the thumbs at her cheeks. He broke contact for a moment to give let her settle down. She calmed and promised patience by bringing her hands to his wrists, her thumbs trailing lightly over the pulse that surged there.   
He smiled and nodded once, and then he moved in, teasing again, but as he moved he drew her to him, deepening his kiss. She was astonished at his movements and how desperately she wanted him. He kissed one side of her mouth and she tried to turn back into it, when his rough thumb trailed lightly over the side he wasn’t kissing.   
Kinetic energy cracked at the end of a deadened nerve and she gasped with sensation, excited, afraid. His feather light touch left fire in it’s wake, and the trail itched and shot sparks straight into her brain.  
She’d barely passed through the deep cloud of sensation when he shifted his lips to that side of her mouth. He sucked gently at the plump pillow of her upper left lip, and she moaned without realizing she’d even done it until after.

“How did you…”, she panted, her arms pulling him close, “how did you know?”.

He made a little bemused sound at the side of her cheek and she gasped a small sound as the vibration hummed through her.

“Trained investigator, Day,”, he chcukled as she writhed. He held her close, gently, as she tipped her head back and let herself be overwhelmed.

Years ago, decades even, before they were even lovers, she’d slept with a man who was rough and saw right through her. He’d made her scream in the night, brought her coffee in the morning, and then slammed her face into a wall as he gave into psychosis.   
The only permanent damage, apart from her pride, was a slightly dead nerve at the edge of her mouth. Since then she’d always fought harder to smile on that side, but back then no one noticed because she hardly smiled at all. All these years she’d never mentioned it, afraid of the memories it might conjure, trying to tell him indirectly with soft whimpers she’d mewl out whenever he chances to touch her there. But he was oblivious or secretive and would soon move along, and she’d learned to be content with whatever accidental thrill he could give her.

But oh god, he knew now, and ah god, she wonders if he’d been saving it, keeping his knowledge of her secret to be used when he absolutely needed it. Whatever was happening, she knew it needed to stop but she couldn’t and she didn’t because she’d always been selfish.  
Her half- calloused dendrites took static from the friction of a kiss, and sent sparking orders across axions, releasing endorphins and skipping steps along the way. It felt like electrocution, pure energy, vibrant and hot.

Her hands were grasping at his muscles, the hard curves of his back. She moved her lips back to his and begged him not to stop

 

“Wasn’t gonna” he chuckled. “Damn you’re hot to trot.”

 

“Skin” she said, greedy, for sensation and warmth, drinking of his passion and starting to get drunk. God his mouth was like ice on a hot summer day, a snow cone in July when she’d still had summers off.

The lazy heat of him warmed her from her core to her toes, and she found herself curling them as he nipped gently at her neck. He broke contact only to bring his shirt over his head, and before she could even breathe out completely he was back at her again.

She was hot now and ready and losing herself. He could smell her and growled as he finished stripping himself down. The vibration of his lust shivered on her lips, and the dead neurons beneath them made serotonin rain down.

Her own hands stripped her bare and she begged him with whimpers. He was breathing harder, controlled, but just barely, and when she moved to hold him still to slip inside her he grunted, and gently took her wrist. He stilled her hand from her motions of trying to coax him into her, and when she relented he moved her hand to his chest. He patted it once so she’d keep it there, and she wondered why they weren’t halfway done fucking already.

He brought his hand back down between them and drew light little patterns across the planes of her abs. She grit her teeth and hissed at his instruction to be still. It was torturously long, that small moment as he fluttered his fingers, but he slowly moved down and she was already overwhelmed.   
He kissed her gently again and she gasped and she flushed and she arched herself closer   
as he slipped the edge of one finger up and down the length of her folds. He was slow and he was kind and he was at peace as he loved, taking his time as she drifted on his touch. She bloomed under his care he was in no rush and the slowness of it was shocking to her hypersensitive nerves. He’d primed her alright, and this was his reward, and he hummed happily at her lips as he continued slowly exploring.

It was driving her crazy and she tried to angle his finger in, but he shushed her at her lips and that sent sparks flying through her again.

“Please” she whispered, near tears and desperate. She feared his hesitation was disappointment in her frenzied rush but he took pity on her and they both moaned as he slipped just slightly inside her. 

She took deep heavy breaths that ended in panting, and though she tried to seduce him with moans into entering her further, he just remained still and smiled gently against her mouth. She nudged her face into his neck to hide her desperation, and he pulled her to him close as the thick finger inside her began to move.

He made little motions, twisting up, twisting down, and she cried out and bit gently at his shoulder to muffle the sound.

He went into her further, just one nimble finger, and palmed the top of her mons as pushed fully upwards. The heel of his hand pressed and released against her, rhythmic and strong, as the tip of his finger made soft lazy circles against the hard nest of nerves hidden in her walls. 

She tightened and cried his first name into his neck, and as she trembled he moaned and pulled out from her. She spammed and tumbled with as she mourned at the loss, but he grasped her jolting hips and pressed forward and then he was inside her.

She saw stars and saw God as he entered her fully, new horizons revealed from the waves she was cresting. He hissed with delight and very near pain as he moved his hips to hers slowly, as she rode him and the storm.

 

He made himself tilt and grit his teeth hard, and when he moved again the wide tip of him was hitting right where he’d made circles before.  
He fought for his breath as he commanded “Again.”   
She dug nails in his back to steady them both. He smiled at the sharpness of her clinging to him, and repeated “Again.” as she fought to come back to herself.

His lips touched to hers, feather light but insistent, and the steady pace of his thrusts kept her on edge. Her unbidden whimpering and panting was embarrassing her, but he held her more tightly and brought a hand to her jaw. He grunted a light disapproval that she hadn’t obeyed his demand yet, and the hand at her jaw titled her head back, exposing her throat and her eyes to him fully.

“Look at me…” he growled, and his gaze held her eyes. “Look at me while I love you…” he told her through his glassy eyed control.

She tried, oh she tried, but as she fell so too did her eyelids, but he was enthralled and joyous and proud as he hissed alongside her. He was uncoordinated and jerky as her lips captured his mouth, and there was new warmth inside her, thawing her now. He gripped tightly to her waist as she whispered his name, and he was so blissfully gracious in his release she thought she might cry. 

He panted, softening, in the calming heat of her body, sure he was no longer welcome and trying to pull out, but she shushed him to be still and laid his check on her chest. His hot breath teased at her breasts and teased at her tenderly with his mouth, and her quiet, quick orgasm surprised them both. As she fluttered and he sucked and he nibbled, contented, he slipped out of her body, but she held him close in her arms. 

Scully came down slowly from his touch and his words and their gaze, as she hummed sated against him, her satisfaction his permission to finally rest. He breathed deeply and evenly as he followed her down, but he kept going into slumber while errant thoughts kept her awake.  
Not yet, please, please God not yet, she begged in her mind as she ran her hands through his damp hair. Don’t let me break yet, she pleaded, and as he slept she memorized his skin and his scent, fighting against the ghosts that rode in on the tail end of her delight. He seeped slowly from her and cold crept into her toes, and she regretfully began working on the walls that would be needed in the morning.


	11. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She woke with a start as the handcuff whipped closed on her wrist.

She woke with a start as the handcuff whipped closed on her wrist.

She jolted and pulled but the other half of the cuffs chained her to a loop made of knotted clothing hooked around a leg of the bed.

She lashed out and drew back as far as she could before the cuff pulled back and demanded she stop.

She was shaken and naked and Pfaster and Barry danced in her head, and she struggled mightily in her semi-feral panic.

“It won’t help.”

She turned to him, furious.

“Mulder! What the hell!”

He narrowed his eyes at her use of his name. “You aren’t Dana.” he sneered.

“I...what the hell are you talking about.” She tugged again, hard, when he didn’t answer. She eyes were frigid and serious as she hissed: “I swear to -God-, Mulder, if this is some fucked up -sex- thing-“

“It’s not a sex thing.” He said. “And you aren’t Dana Scully.” 

She leaned back against the headboard, breathing hard in her anger.

“Then what the fuck-“ she said pulling hard at her chain as punctuating statement, “-is this supposed to be?!”

He was disturbingly calm. “This is where you tell me who you are,” he said, “and where the fuck -she- is.”

She stared at him a moment, but tired won out over angry. She sighed and fell back against the headboard, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. “Look, Mulder...just...just go.” She waved him off, dismissing him. “I’ll deal with this-“ she pulled at the cuffs again, “...myself.” 

He pointed his gun at her and repeated himself; “You aren’t Dana Scully.”

Okay, now she was concerned. He had the blank stare he wore when he’d had holes drilled in his head. “Okay. Look, Mulder...” she licked her lips and showed him her palms. She spoke in a soothing, gentle tone and annunciated every word: “...just put the gun down.”

“So the real issue then,” he blathered, “is twofold:” he held up one finger and kept his aim steady. “Number one, if you aren’t Dana Scully, then who the hell are you?”

He was pissing her off. “Christ I insist on “Dana” for a day and you go off the deep end.” She blew air out her nose in frustration. She stared, barely caring about him, or the gun. God she was tired. She looked at him with exhausted eyes. “If you’re gonna shoot me, then the least you can do is tell me what evidence you have for this...insanity.”

He hesitated a moment. “Dana Scully doesn’t have a tattoo on her back.”

It took her a second. “What?”

His lip curled up in a slight snarl. “The tattoo. On your back. You fucked up by not hiding it, whoever you are.”

“Why would I hide it? Why would I ever need to hide it, least of all from you!-“

“You tell me.” He sneered, his gaze and gun level.

Now she was pissed and confused. “So hold on. Hold on.” This was insane and idiotic and her tone told him so. “So...because I have a tattoo, you think I’m someone else.”

“I know you’re someone else, the question is who. Or what.”

She shook her head, astounded by such destructive stupidity. “Mulder-“

He cut her off, breathing hard. “So what is it then? Spy? Assassin? Clone?”

She chuffed a laugh in disbelief, unimpressed. He damn near growled his next words at her total lack of acceptance of his theories. He held up two fingers, blushing with rage: “And then there’s the second part of our twofold question: if you’re here in her place-“ he roared, the gun shaking, “...then where the hell is my wife?!”

His what? 

“Your -what-?” 

“No more games!” He bellowed. “Tell me who you are and where she is and you might get out of this alive!”

She was stuck a moment behind him. “...Your wife?” She asked, incredulous.

He clicked the safety off the gun.

Now he had her attention.

She shook her head, trying to fit all the pieces together. Something was missing. There was some fact whose omission made the whole puzzle impossible to solve. 

“Look say that you’re right, in fact I know you are...” She began, brows knit in concentration. She looked at him and sneered slightly as she spoke: “...because we never married and I am most certainly not your wife...”

She shook the distasteful word from her mind. Looked him dead in the eye, and offered a truce. “Look, just put the gun down before any accidents happen and let’s just... let’s just fucking figure this out.”

“With what? Twenty questions?” He sneered.

Oh she was -so- done. “You know what? Yeah. Fine. Twenty fucking questions.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke, unimpressed with his dramatics. “You ask, then I ask, and we both tell the truth. Is that good enough for you? Or do you wanna talk about boys and braid each other’s hair instead?”

He very nearly smiled, but she saw him chastise himself for it. Something in what she’d said or done resonated with him, however, and he put the gun down. He sat down in a chair a few feet away, and placed the weapon on the dresser, well within reach. Both of them naked, she still chained, the two took each other’s measure and started to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters are written and will be released when they are edited :)
> 
> We’re getting weird folks. I’m excited.


	12. Biding

Twenty questions, then. 

Ready, set, go-

“Full name.” He said, starting them off.

“Mine or yours.” 

“Both, if you’re so sure...”

“Dana Katherine Scully. Fox William Mulder. Occupation.” She demanded. “Mine and yours.”

“Investigators both. Medical doctor, liscenced psychologist.”

“Specialties.”

“It was my turn.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care. Specialties. Name them.”

He frowned but obeyed: “Abnormal psychology. Infectious diseases.”

Her eyes widened. “...What?”

He continued, unimpressed, with mischievous eyes. “These are hardly things only Dana would know.” He laid back and spread his arms out casually against the armrests. “So riddle me this...” he taunted with a waggle of his eyebrows, a knowing, predatory grin slowly spreading on his mouth, “...what did I say to you at the Temple of the Seven Stars?”

She was still stuck on his last answer. In med school she’d essentially flipped a coin between two specialties. Her flip had lead her into pathology but a slight wind or twist of fate could have... She brought her hand up, unconsciously asking for a pause while her mind churned: “Wait, hold on a second-“

Her attempts at delay did not impress him. He shook his head at her and spoke blithely, obnoxiously sure of himself. 

“Tick tock, little spy...” He said with a wag of his finger back and forth. “...Time’s a wastin’! Tell me what I said to my wife on that case...” He moved his hand to the side and drummed his fingers near his gun, “...if you can...”. 

He stared her down as her brows knit together, and his grin was broad as she struggled to recall. He was haughty as he spoke, revelling in his control. “You know...” he began casually, “I won’t hesitate to shoot you if you don’t tell me where she is.” He pretended to consider something, rubbing a hand against his chin. “Nowhere immediately lethal, mind you...” he began.

She was numb, her vision tunnelling, and she fought against her fear to keep her breath steady.

“Come to think of it...” he mused, “...maybe I won’t shoot you after all...” 

His words and his mirthfulness at the thought did not reassure her. Around the panic of her trying to remember the words that might free her, she began praying piecemeal last rites for herself in her mind.

He stretched his arms fully and extended his legs all the way to his toes. He cracked his joints lazily and smacked his lips as if sleepy, entirely unperturbed. He tilted his head and took in her figure. She curled up to cover herself under his suffocating leer.

He was unhurried as he spoke: “You’re a near perfect copy. Very fine work.” He pursed his lips in thought, his voice was silken and smooth as the venom of his words tainted his reassurance. “Oh don’t worry, little spy, I‘m not going to rape you.” He rolled his eyes at the word. “How unoriginal.” He lamented, shaking his head. “No...” he informed her, “...no the things I will do to you will be far more gruesome than you could ever imagine.”

He licked his lips and bared his teeth as he watched her take it all in. Her heart echoed in the emptiness of the room and his soul. 

His nonchalant expression was there for her benefit. It was entirely false, and it was far, far more dangerous than she had ever expected. “If you don’t tell me where to find her, I’ll keep you safe until I do. You’ll stay there, until I find her, in a windowless room, isolated, alone, deep underground. I will keep you there, forever, in absolute unquestioning tip top pristine health.” He raked his eyes across her nakedness again. “You and your beautiful body...so much like hers...”

He laced his fingers together on his belly just under his ribs. He crossed his feet at the ankles, relaxed, and had a faraway look and a slight smile in his eyes. 

“And when I do find her, little spy, I’ll take note of every bruise or cut or insult on -her- body, and then I’ll replicate them -exactly- on your out-standing- facsimile.” He inhaled a deep breath, satisfied with his proposal, basking and sated like he’d just eaten a great meal.

He stared at her with the false levity of his profiler’s gift, uninterested in her body, as he watched her shivering naked at his threats. He wanted her mind stripped and bare before him, wanted obedience from fear, and so he hunted her, tireless, while his prey grew exhausted. The force of his mind had brought killers to their knees, had made savage men weep for their victims and their actions and their lives, and as she wracked her brain and her memories and her training under his gaze, she realized with finality that his terrible madness was now focused on her..

He brought gentle violence upon her psyche, now with the choice and weight of his words. He threatened confinement, helplessness, her deepest, hated fears. He saw her not as mother or lover or friend, but as just another killer to break down, bring low, all to the end of finding whatever information he sought in her mind. 

Which was a real goddamn problem, as there was nothing to find.

Some part of her free associated as she fought for control of her fear, and she wondered if any other victims of his intellect were ever similarly bereft. 

He shrugged and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He was bored as he elaborated: “Every scrape, every wound, every fingerprint on her, I will return to your masters on your beautiful body. It will be slow, infinite, unimaginable horror. And after I’ve painted her pain on the shell of your form, I’ll slit your throat, send you back, and let your trauma speak for you.”

Forever a victim, oh god, this couldn’t really be him, could it? Mulder, God, please, Jesus, just aim for my head and be kind!-

...But a bounty hunter had tricked her like this once before, hadn’t it? 

It was a false, despondent hope, but it kept her heart beating and her mind on the right side of the descent into despair. How much should she divulge, if this -wasn’t- him? How much was too much, and would her loose lips sink them both? 

She saw the banal hatred in his heart as he watched her struggle and decide, the crazed, half starved lion of him toying with his kill, half rabid and itching to feast on her guts. She was tired, she was bound, and, she concluded, when all was said and done she didn’t have much of a choice. He had several advantages, chief among them a gun, but most concerning to her was the resolve in his eyes, his tense body, his white knuckles, the set of his jaw. She prepared to disappoint him, very much certain that the end of their encounter would take the form of her death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These end notes contain spoilers for 11x01 My Struggle III.
> 
> Mulder (well, everyone...and everything, frankly) in My Struggle III, was so obscenely out of character that it was fashionable, on reddit, for a brief window of time before the next episode aired, to theorize that perhaps the whole episode or revival until then had taken place in an alternate timeline where the fevered insanity of that slapdash sell out hour of television made sense.
> 
> It didn’t. It was a delusional hysteria we precipitated in our pain.
> 
> Someone, in that chaos, made a great comment that I’m paraphrasing but the gist of it boiled down to: “Mulder with the IMMEDIATE throat slit, tho.”
> 
> Look, I’m just saying that maybe you should keep that Mulder in mind. You know. Just in case. For giggles. For science.
> 
> Just sayin’...

**Author's Note:**

> Favourite, kudos, subscribe, cause there's oh so much more.


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